Nova Scotia

The plane flies over the water,
Too low.  I can see the ripples
On the surface, waves lapping
Deadwood on a rocky shore.
Pull up, I want to say, pull up.
But the pilot leaves the controls
Walking to the rear of the plane
And I am sure we are going to crash.
Where is my daughter, I wonder.
She is not sitting with me.

I can see into the branches
Of ancient pines against gray
Sky.  We are still that low.
Pull up, I want to tell the pilot.
It is the co-pilot who finally pulls up
But we tangle with the tops
Of the trees, we can hear them
Scraping the bottom of the plane
And I am sure we are going to crash.
Where is my daughter I wonder.
She is not sitting with me.

The pilot announces we are going
To make an emergency landing to
Inspect the damage to the bottom
Of the plane, so brace yourselves.
I can see we are headed for an open
Mossy, rocky area, where the plane
Skids and bounces, and scrapes,
Without landing gear.  Surely now
The plane is even more damaged
Than it was from the treetops.
As I stumble from the plane
My daughter appears at my side.

She told the pilot to pull up
She said, but he didn't pull up
Fast enough and we still hit
The trees.  Why did she even
Have to tell him to pull up
I wonder.  And in the distance
There is a chalet, and people coming
To us with blankets to keep us warm.